


The Eden Switch Companion Series

by Tattered_Dreams



Series: The Eden Switch [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Glader life, Multiple Points of View, Numerous OCs - Freeform, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Canon, Violence, attempted suicide references, canon AU, movie-verse canon, present tense narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots of moments and events that happen during the course of The Eden Switch, but told through the eyes of the other Gladers.</p><p>-Will make little sense if you have not read The Eden Switch first-<br/>-All one shots here are complementary to the main story. You do not have to read them. Eden Switch is complete on its own-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival - Newt - Ch1-2

**Author's Note:**

> Things to be aware of when reading this:
> 
> 1\. The one shots are not directly related. Where possible, I'm posting them in chronological order with the events of the main story but this is not a full re-write, so there will be huge gaps of the main story between the one shot chapters here.
> 
> 2\. Viewpoint characters may change. Some are from Newt's perspective, one is planned from Minhos and there may be others, too. Chapters are likely to be third person but largely following one character as the narrator.
> 
> 3\. I will note at the top of the chapter where abouts in the story these one-shots fit in. You may want to read back to remind yourself, but that is entirely up to you.
> 
> 4\. This is not pre-written. Updates will be less regular than those for Eden Switch. Not only have I started work on a fic in another fandom, but I also will be checking back through the story to pick out the parts where alternate POVs are wanted before writing them. But as each one shot is complete in its own right, you at least won't be left hanging.
> 
> 5\. Chapters may range in length. It honestly depends on who's narrating and what's happening, among other things. Some chapters may be short, looking at a single instance. Others may be longer, if they follow a longer time period.
> 
> LASTLY
> 
> If there is a particular event or moment you are interested in seeing, please do comment and tell me. Tell me which bit, and who's perspective you'd like to see it from. I make no promises, but I'd rather write something you guys want to read than guess at what bits you're interested in.
> 
> It can be anything from 'The second rain day' to 'The first time Minho thought Eva was good for Newt' (an actual event, or a feeling that happens somewhere you're not sure about in the main story).
> 
> So, that said...
> 
> HERE WE GO
> 
> This first chapter covers the events of Chapters 1 and 2; Eva's arrival in the Glade from Newt's perspective.
> 
> Warnings: brief mention of previous attempted suicide.

It’s just crawling past lunch time when the Box alarm blares across the Glade.

 

Newt looks up.

 

All around, boys are dropping what they’ve been doing and starting to run across the open, grassy field that takes up half of their Oasis, to the concrete platform in the centre.

 

Frypan charges from the Kitchen, wooden spoon in hand and trailed by a bunch of his Cooks. Gally, already out on the field with the Builders as they chop up wood, is one of the first to reach the hard standing. From the other side of the Glade, Zart, Dan and both their teams have a longer run down from the Gardens and the Bloodhouse, but they’re rushing forwards, too.

 

Newt runs up with the others, Jeff and Eric parting to let him through the gathering that’s formed in just moments so he can stand right at the lip of the platform.

 

The rusted doors finally crank open.

 

The sun glares down into the Box; blinding light shines off of the grill.

 

“New Greenie!” Jack cheers. The Track-Hoes have arrived, clustering around where they can find spaces.

 

“Get Alby!” Dan instructs, nodding to Homestead.

 

Frankie hurries away without question; their esteemed leader is probably still trying to fix the hammock that Dimitri broke last night.

 

Frypan leans forward, “See what’s for supper tonight, Lads!” He grinds the handle of his spoon into his palm like it’s a mortar.

 

He’s always keen to see if there’ll be something new to work with, but after three years of the repetitive cycle, Newt knows better than most that they always sent the same things.

 

Nothing new.

 

“Whoa,” Zart’s voice rings out, the shock in it silencing the others in an instant. He’s worked his way forwards, eyes fixed down into the Box. “Find Alby, Now,” he says, serious. “It’s a girl.”

 

 

That blows that theory.

 

Frowning, Newt leans forward. Could Zart have been mistaken? But no – even in the deep shadows cast by the strong sun, there’s no mistake there. Or…there is, but it’s a mistake with the system; not Zart.

 

Definitely a girl.

 

Bloody hell.

 

She looks fragile, recoiled into the corner with long dark hair in a tangle, spilling over her shoulders like a cloak. But there’s something fixed in the way she holds herself; less like fear and more like…defensiveness.

 

Newt doesn’t have time to warn Gally – who’s clearly had enough and jumps down, just like always.

 

She moves like lightning.

 

Everything happens in moments.

 

She hurls a burlap sack at Gally, who stumbles in shock, but she’s already wheeling on a crate beside her. The side of her fist rams into the join and jerks down.

 

The side of the crate falls apart.

 

The creature inside; a fat goose with a wingspan that nearly fills the Box, charges free from the splinters and takes to the air.

 

 

Half the boys shout out and scatter backwards. Lee trips over a clump of grass as Gally throws off the sack, ducking to avoid the wings.

 

The girl leaps off the crate and into the crowd of Gladers.

 

Frypan orders a bunch of the boys after the escaping goose. Newt doesn’t have time to focus on that; the girl is already turning for an escape, and before he thinks it through, he moves to block her.

 

She stares at him for a breath of a second.

 

He knows what its like; no memories and no name. He can sympathise with that, but as well as the fear and confusion in her turbulent grey eyes, there’s something solid and focused.

 

She’s processing her situation despite her fear.

 

And right now, they’re the enemy, which means she’s dangerous.

 

_Just what we bloody need._

 

He reaches for the worn handle over his shoulder; the motion subconscious and practiced. These boys are his responsibility. He doesn’t want to use it, but he will if he has to.

 

Only he doesn’t get a chance.

 

The frozen second passes and she rams her arm into his wrist, the impact sending a shockwave down to his elbow. His fingers loosen on the machete and he falters in surprise.

 

She dives around him and _runs_.

 

…

 

And to think they had a slow morning before the Box arrived.

 

She’s fast.

 

For a moment, a cheer goes up; boys laughing and calling out.

 

Boys have tried to run before. They all stumble, fall, run out of breath or just break down.

 

But…the jeers fall flat.

 

She doesn’t fall and she doesn’t falter. Her dark hair streams behind her and she flies over the uneven ground.

 

“Shuck,” Dan swears. He takes off after her with Jack, Tim, Clint and Joe all racing in his wake.

 

But she’s too quick, and they waited too long. They won’t catch her.

 

She nears Homestead, veers suddenly to the left, jumping clean over the empty fire pit outside the Mess hall and vanishes between the huts into the woods.

 

_Bloody great._

 

Newt doesn’t know whether he’s agitated or impressed.

 

…

 

Frypan and Stan are halfway across the field, arms clamped around the goose who is now throwing a tantrum. Gally looks a sight more annoyed than usual as he climbs from the Box. There’s still boys standing around the platform with wide eyes, the muttering a hum of indiscernible noise.

 

Some of the Gladers have already started for the woodland to help look.

 

Gally brushes off his pants and starts storming across the field.

 

Newt quickly reels off instructions – unload, get the goose contained, help look – and hurries down to the woods himself.

 

…

 

He catches up with Joe but before long, they’ve crossed one of the streams and can’t even see Homestead through the trees. There’s no sign of the girl anywhere.

 

“I’ll look this way,” Joe says. He nods to the left.

 

“While she’s in the wood, not much can go wrong. So long as someone’s watching the Doors,” Newt says.

 

Joe nods and moves away, digging his way through the tree roots and keeping his eyes peeled.

 

Newt lets out a breath. Time is rushing past as they search. There’s time yet to find her…but there’s also still a chance for her to try running for the Maze. With Minho, Ben, Justin and Doug all still out in it, its not looking like anyone in the Glade will be fast enough to stop her.

 

He turns for the right and moves away to continue his own search.

 

For the first time, he’s bitterly grateful that the Glade is so small.

 

He ambles through the trees a little way, but when it becomes clear that at least half a dozen Gladers are doing the same, Newt leaves the Deadheads and jogs across the field for the Doors. He directs people to possible hiding places to search when he finds them on the way.

 

Billy has positioned himself at the threshold of the Maze, and spots him coming a long way off, with the way his eyes are sharp for any movement.

 

“Newt,” he greets. “Anything?”

 

“No,” Newt admits. “We need you to stay put a bit longer.”

 

“Sure thing,” he nods. His grip tightens on the long wooden pole he’s leaning on. “I’ll shout if I see anyt-“

 

“Is this a welcoming party?”

 

Billy’s mouth snaps shut at the interruption, and both he and Newt spin to the shadowed tunnel into the Maze behind them.

 

Minho runs up with Ben on his heels. They’re both puffing slightly, but look otherwise unfazed. Minho raises an eyebrow at him as they both pull up on the dry ground just inside the Glade.

 

“The Box come up?” Ben asks. “Greenbean here?”

 

“Oh, Greenie’s here,” Billy mutters.

 

Minho turns to Newt, frowning.

 

“It’s a girl,” Newt says, knowing as he says it that it sounds unbelievable. “She jumped out, caused a distraction and ran. We lost her in the woods.”

 

“You _lost_ her?” Ben looks like he doesn’t know whether to find this terrible or hilarious.

 

“She’s quick,” Billy says. “I was there. We’re all looking now.”

 

Minho nods. He knows they need to find her before too long, and that it isn’t totally a laughing matter, but his eyes flash with amusement as he signals to Ben.

 

“We’ll drop off our stuff and help look. We’ll start at the back by the Map Room and work towards Homestead.”

 

“Thanks,” Newt says.

 

The two Runners head off across the field again and Billy stands straight once more.

 

“I’ll pass on the message when Justin and Doug get back,” he says. “Go ahead.”

 

Newt claps him on the shoulder and makes his own run back towards the Deadheads.

 

Running towards the trees behind Homestead, it doesn’t take him long to catch up with Alby.

 

Apparently Frankie found him, explained the situation, and he’s now helping to search. He walks through the trees, talking seemingly to himself in what might pass for a soothing tone.

 

“Hey – Alby!” Newt calls out to him.

 

Alby turns to face him. A little of the tension leaves his expression.

 

“Newt.”

 

“No sign,” Newt supplies, without being asked. “Billy’s been stood by the Doors since she came up. She hasn’t showed up again, so at least we know she hasn’t left the Glade.”

 

Alby absorbs this with a silent nod, looking preoccupied.

 

“Minho and Ben are back,” Newt adds on, clapping him on the shoulder. “They’ve gone to Runner’s Lodge and then they’re going to help search.”

 

“What about the goose?”

 

Newt bites back a smile. “Frypan and the guys got it. They’ve shut it in by the goats. He wasn’t too happy that we might not get a nice dinner.”

 

“She let it out?” Alby asks in amusement, smiling finally.

 

Newt fails to hold back his answering one as he shrugs. “Yeah. Jammed something in the side of the crate and broke it out.” He remembers the way her fist jerked into the side of the goose’s box; a quick, thoughtless motion. “Used it as a distraction.”

 

“Does she know anything? Did anyone talk to her?” Alby asks, back to business.

 

It never changes; no one ever remembers anything, even their names take a few days, but Alby always asks.

 

False hope is better than none at all, he once said.

 

Newt isn’t sure if he agrees.

 

“There wasn’t really time,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck absently, still feeling the impact of her arm against his wrist; more surprise than pain. He relays the events as they happened; how she dodged Gally, used the goose, knocked him aside and then just ran. “No one’s seen her since.”

 

“And you’ve looked everywhere?” Alby checks.

 

Newt bites back a sigh and a sarcastic response.

 

Clearly not, since they haven’t found her. He knows Alby can get a little riled up because he feels responsible for everyone, but saying that won’t help.

 

“I searched that way a bit,” Newt replies instead, nodding in the direction Alby was coming from when he caught up. “Headed back across the field and got some of the others positioned. I’ve just come back from the Doors.”

 

Before Alby can respond to this, Jeff runs up to them, his medic bag swinging at his side.

 

“Been all around the huts,” he reports, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

 

Alby doesn’t look impressed. “We’ll have to find her before dark. The Glade’s not that big.”

 

“It’s not long until sundown,” Newt says. “We just need to watch the Doors, make sure she doesn’t get stuck out there. Think about it, Alby; we’re probably scarier for her than being alone in this place.”

 

It’s not the first time this thought has occurred to him.

 

She was scared when she arrived, but despite that fear, she was clearly thinking and processing, because she knew how to stage a distraction and get away. Not just get away, but stay hidden. Which makes her a little more dangerous than the average Greenie, but the point is that she would have seen all of them were boys, and some were armed.

 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d probably keep the hell away, too.

 

“We have our laws,” Alby answers, like this closes the conversation. “No one harms another Glader. It’s safer with us.”

 

“But she doesn’t know that,” Newt replies.

 

She sprinted before they could even try to reassure her. She doesn’t know their rules, the Glade, their society or the situation.

 

He can see where Alby’s coming from. He spent a month alone before Nick was sent up; he’s the one person who would actually know what it’s like to not have people around to lean on.

 

And yet, Newt can’t help feeling a little exasperated. Alby’s never been too great at seeing the situation through the eyes of the Greenies.

 

He tilts his head up, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and freezes.

 

There, balanced in the branches high above all of them, is the girl.

 

She stares right back at him. Her fingers are white as they grip the bark, tiny leaves caught in her tangled dark hair and her eyes – large, grey like storm clouds – are defiant.

 

“Or…”Newt says, voice cracking as he realises she’s been listening to them talk about her and the Glade and their rules. “Maybe she does.”

 

Newt can’t break his eyes away from her steady expression, but he feels Alby frowning into the foliage, so he nudges him, indicating into the canopy.

 

“Jeff, tell the others,” Alby says when he sees her, voice suddenly lowered like he’s on some kind of wildlife hunt. As though she hasn’t just been listening to them all tramp around like normal.

 

Jeff leaves without a word. Twigs crack under his feet as he hurries off.

 

Alby starts moving forwards, and Newt doesn’t even have time to suggest that it may not be a good idea.

 

“We’re not going to hurt y-“

 

She flinches. There’s a flash of colour, a flat whistling noise, and a loud crack. She’s thrown a whittled spike – one that the builders use for the huts – at Alby.

 

It goes wide, but not by much, strikes the tree behind him.

 

Alby stops on the spot.

 

Newt casts a glance at his friend, then back at the girl. She almost looks surprised at herself, and Newt can’t work out if her aim is just dodgy, or if she intended it as a warning.

 

“Stay away.”

 

Newt stares at her. Her voice is husky with misuse but it’s the first time he’s heard a girl speak at all. She sounds pretty serious.

 

Alby either disagrees or doesn’t care.

 

“Can’t do that,” he says promptly. “Let’s start with something simple, okay? I’m Alby. I’m a friend.” He reaches back, gesturing to Newt. “This is my buddy, Newt. Do you remember your name? Anything about yourself?”

 

There’s a faint note of irony in her voice, now evening out, as she says, “I remember how to throw a knife. And how to climb trees.”

 

Newt tries very hard to hold back the smile at that, and he doesn’t think he fully succeeds.

 

Since she’s just thrown something at Alby, and has been neatly avoiding them for a while now without moving at all, its fair to say there’s at least a couple of things she knows, even if they are subconscious. But it’s the dry humour in her tone that Newt decides, quite spontaneously, that he likes.

 

“Okay,” Alby says positively. “That’s a start. You’ll get your name back in a day or so. Everyone does. Everyone here has gone through the same as you.”

 

There’s a dubious expression on her face, but she doesn’t say a word.

 

“We have three rules here,” Alby continues, oblivious. “You do your part; there are jobs for everyone and something will fit. You never hurt another Glader – and they’ll never hurt you. And you never go beyond the Wall.”

 

There’s another one of those defiant flashes in her silvery eyes, but she still stays silent.

 

_She knows how to pick her battles_ , Newt thinks, as a group of boys come running up. _She’s smart_.

 

Gally is at the front of the pack. Minho, Ben and Jack are with him.

 

“You know we’ve been looking everywhere for her,” Gally glares up into the trees but the girl doesn’t move. “I say we throw her in the Pit.”

 

_You would_.

 

“Gally,” Minho says, walking around him. “Come on, Man. Shuck off.”

 

Apparently the girl wasn’t really listening to Gally, though, because an instant later she says, “What’s beyond the wall?”

 

Gally throws up his hands, and he’d probably storm off if he were less interested in what happens next. Its one of the most asked questions, but his tolerance has already been shot by now.

 

Newt feels Minho looking at him; he can feel the question in his silence, but isn’t wholly sure how to answer.

 

Alby tries not to tell anyone up front; he thinks it’s just too much to handle, but Newt can still see the girl’s grey eyes when she first looked at him by the Box – scared but unyielding.

 

If she wants answers, maybe they should just give them.

 

Newt can’t remember anyone arriving and being able to control their confusion and fear the way she has.

 

“You can’t watch me forever,” she says.

 

And that’s what makes him decide. It’s not a threat, or an ultimatum. It’s the gentle truth in her voice.

 

“A Maze,” Newt replies, the words tearing out. He can feel Alby’s expression; part alarmed and part warning. Newt stares back at him, unmoved.

 

_Nothing about this is normal. If she decides to find out herself, we won’t be able to stop her. Trust me._

 

His point must get across, because Alby’s expression clears and he doesn’t interrupt when Newt continues, “The Glade is in the middle of it, and every night, the doors close until morning. If you get stuck out, you don’t come back.”

 

He’s careful with the words; there’s so much more to it, but he doesn’t actually want to scare her. He wants her to know enough to be wary of her own volition. A returned honesty.

 

Her expression flickers. She visibly weighs up the information, and then she gives an almost imperceptible nod.

 

Small steps, but its enough for now.

 

…

 

Alby herds them all away, and there’s plenty of jobs to keep everyone occupied for the remainder of the afternoon.

 

Newt joins a bunch of the Sloppers to get the Box unloaded and all the new supplies put away. The crates and boxes are checked as they’re hauled up – ones for the Infirmary, ones for the Kitchen. There’s huge tins of seed packs for the Gardens and boxes of new knives for the Bloodhouse.

 

The boys start to take it out, dropping what’s needed where. The sun coasts ever lower in the sky, lighting the field and trees with gold. Alby weaves through the Deadheads, Homestead, past the Lookout Tree and up towards the Butchery and Gardens. His usual tour route.

 

It’s an average Box Day.

 

Or, it would be.

 

But there’s still a strange girl in the Glade.

 

It’s an entirely new situation. It’s already unsettled more than a few of the boys, and it really doesn’t help that she’s able to manage her fear so well. She walks with Alby, apparently silent; still uncertain and scared, but her eyes are steady as they roam over the tiny world she’s been left with.

 

Newt’s just thankful no one saw her throw the spike at Alby.

 

It’s probably best to keep that quiet, at least for now.

 

…

 

Alby returns to the Mess once it’s dark.

 

He ducks through the doorway and all heads snap up to him. A frisson of wary anticipation runs through the crowd of gathered Gladers, but he enters alone. Slowly, without asking, their heads lower back to their bowls.

 

Newt just locks eyes with his oldest friend.

 

Alby jerks his head almost imperceptibly behind him. _She won’t come in_. Then he shakes his head – a single, tiny movement, just once. _Leave her._

 

So Newt returns to his task of gathering bowls and Alby heads over to give Frypan a hand with the huge cauldron of broth.

 

Slowly, the chatter and usual noise picks up, and Newt can almost push those silvery eyes out of his mind and forget there’s a girl there at all.

 

…

 

With all the food ready, they start moving it out to the edge of the fire pit, with other boys starting to fetch hay and wood to get the bonfire going.

 

Girl or not, it’s a Box Day, so everyone gets to celebrate.

 

And while they’re preparing to light the fire, Newt spots her. She’s like a shadow, practically sprinting across the open grass from one side of the Glade to the other around the back of Homestead and right into the line of trees that mark the corner.

 

If she’s looking for an exit, she isn’t going to find one.

 

Across the fire pit, Alby catches his eye – apparently he’s spotted her, too. This time, he nods very slightly, and then jerks his head to the side. _See if you can try._

 

So Newt slips around the table and jogs out across the field some way, leaving the humming of voices and dancing firelight behind him.

 

She’s racing in another direction, almost singularly focused.

 

“Hey, hey,” Newt calls out to her, trying to come across as reassuring. “Look, there’s nowhere to run.”

 

She stops in the same instant he speaks, wheeling on him in surprise. She stands firmly in the grass, unflinching. Her dark hair is almost black under the night sky, the leaves gone. The grey eyes are wide and cautious, set into a face with fair skin and soft, delicate features. Pieces of her look like a startled deer; ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. But other parts of her look like something else; something unused to feeling fear. Or at least unused to letting it rule her.

 

She speaks moments after he decides to try approaching her – slowly, carefully – just in case.

 

“I’m not running to escape, I’m running to learn.”

 

Newt stops on the spot.

 

That’s new.

 

Its puzzling; that within hours of arriving, she can find some anchor for her sanity in just wanting to know her surroundings. Most boys shake and twitch for two days at best.

 

And if he had time to think about it, it might be concerning that it’s running which she finds that anchor in. But he can’t really process that because she speaks again.

 

“Sorry for knocking you earlier.”

 

And…what?

 

That’s definitely surprised him. The second she looked at him was just that; barely a second, and she seemed far more focused on just getting away than anything else. He didn’t really expect her to remember him, let alone feel apologetic for it.

 

But then…she’s far more observant than a good handful of the Greenies who came before her.

 

He steps closer still. “It’s okay. It’s not easy. Trust me, I know.”

 

“But the other one?” she says, like it’s a question. “The one I sacked; I don’t think he’ll take it so lightly.”

 

No, Gally really won’t. Already hasn’t, actually. But in this respect at least, he’s quite harmless – he isn’t going to harm this girl because she threw a piece of fabric at him. Not when he lost his marbles and punched Nick square in the face when he first arrived.

 

The girl’s wary mention of him, as well as that fading memory amuses him just a bit – he’s not used to feeling genuine amusement very much.

 

“Gally?” he says, though he knows who she means. “He takes himself quite seriously. I can’t imagine getting outdone by a girl is something he’ll get over anytime soon.” More of a damage to his pride than anything else. “Don’t worry about him. You almost spiked Alby and he still gave you the tour.”

 

She seems to accept this.

 

“I’m Newt. You knew that, though,” he adds, remembering that he was there when Alby first threw his name out. If she remembered knocking him aside, he’s guessing she remembers names.

 

“Alby mentioned it,” she says, proving his theory right.

 

And that’s all she says. She seems to have relaxed; she doesn’t hold herself with that startled tension anymore, and her eyes roam across the Glade, probably taking in the activity behind them at Homestead.

 

Which reminds him…

 

“Come on,” he nods his head back to the fire pit, some way across the field. “Come and meet them.”

 

She stiffens suddenly, eyes flickering with wariness again.

 

“I can’t.”

 

Is she still afraid, after all she’s seen and been told? She doesn’t have anything to fear from them; not unless she hurts someone else first – and okay, if she’s prone to launching sharp objects, that’s a possibility, but Newt can’t shake the thought that it wasn’t even a conscious move. It looked and felt more like a reflex that caught even her off guard.

 

But how can he convince her she’s safe?

 

Simply…he can’t. She has to see that for herself.

 

“Look,” she says, apparently reading his indecision. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I am or who any of you are. All I have is this pressing emptiness in my head where I used to be and it’s suffocating.”

 

Her voice cracks.

 

The words hit low and rock in Newt’s stomach like a physical blow.

 

He’s been here nearly three years and he’s built memories from the ground up. Memories in Alby and Minho and Fry, memories in the deaths and loss they’ve all suffered and memories in the world and the family they’ve created in this tiny prison.

 

And sometimes it’s easy to forget that he knows nothing of his life before that.

 

He used to wonder who he was – if he had friends, siblings, if he got good grades in school or had a lot of detentions; if he was good at video games or played chess with his father.

 

Three years is a lot of time to wonder about the years you lost.

 

And it hurt, at first. Sometimes it still does. So he stopped wondering.

 

But he remembers that feeling; that hollowing in his stomach and the headache that came with having a brain so empty of an entire lifetime.

 

He guesses that it’s something they all deal with, but no one’s ever said as much. They all ask questions, of course they do. But this is the first time someone has put to words that feeling that makes it so hard to breathe when you wake up as a blank slate.

 

The girl swallows, that hollow feeling like a storm in her eyes, and says, “It’s night time. I heard you say the Doors won’t open until morning. Guard them if you want, but I just…

 

“Just please let me cope with this on my own, okay? You’re right; there’s nowhere for me to go. We all know that, so please…just let me cope.”

 

She gazes at him, waiting.

 

And Newt gets it. Gets it a little too much.

 

He’s always been the kind of person to bottle things up and shoulder his pain and problems alone. Every person in the Glade has enough to deal with without sharing someone else’s burdens. And given his solution to his build up of problems was to try to take his own life – later regretting it or not – he’s in no position to question anyone else’s coping mechanisms.

 

If she wants to deal alone, who are they to stop her? Plus, on top of being in a strange place with no memories, she’s facing an uncertain future just with a bunch of teenage boys. He can’t really blame her for wanting to stay away.

 

She must see something in his face change, because her shoulders relax. Her eyes clear.

 

“Alright,” he says, voice quiet into the night. “We’ll be at the bonfire. Happens every month for the new Greenie. Come and find us, I guess.”

 

And he thinks she will, when she’s ready.

 

There’s nothing really left to say, so he starts to head back, unable to stop himself looking back at her once.

 

She’s a contradiction behind a pair of careful grey eyes that shine silver under the stars. She’s scared and fearless and there’s no way she hasn’t been sent here for a reason.

 

The real question is why.

 

Why now, and why her?


	2. Honesty - Newt - Ch5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi, guys! Sorry it's been a while! This has been mostly written and just needed finishing off then editing, but life has been manic. This would have been up earlier, but today we learned that a house we'd offered on previously fell through with a sale, so we're crossing our fingers again. Got to wait to hear, but it meant a very busy day of prep just in case. Enough of me, though - you're here for Eva, Newt and the Gladers :)
> 
> This one takes place during the events of Chapter 5.
> 
> It picks up a little before the chapter, filling in a little more of Newt and Eva's time not speaking, which wasn't a focal point in the main story, but fun as a side-plot. There is also mention of an event that takes place in Chapter 4 - Eva's conversation with Gally.
> 
> Warnings: Previously attempted suicide. Thoughts on it, conversations surrounding and alluding to it etc. Shouldn't be anything triggering, but it is a central point of this one-shot.
> 
> Enjoy!

Newt can't bring himself to talk to her.

Her face the night he walked away keeps cropping up in that in-between place, haunting him. He sees it when he's trying to fall asleep, and when he's returning to wakefulness.

The gentle, honest expression that didn't judge or demand answers with the fire from the torch dancing in her eyes and turning them to gold.

He's known her a little over a month. She's unassuming and kind, finds friends in most of the people she speaks to and has a certain gentleness in the things she says and does. She even apologises directly to Gally about what she did the day she arrived.

Newt could see that interaction across the fire; remembers it with a sharp clarity. To most people, Gally's expression didn't give anything away – he has a pretty good poker face – but Newt's known him for almost three years, and Gally was surprised.

He replied, and judging by his face, it was a little bit positive, but he's not actually going to accept something so unexpected as a girl that fast. And yet, when Eva walked away from him, her expression was peaceful.

She knew Gally couldn't accept her, and she was okay with that. Perhaps she even knew why.

And Newt couldn't work out what that strange gripping sensation in his chest was. Something unfamiliar and warm that accompanied a flash of respect.

He hasn't forgotten this – how endlessly understanding she seems to be – but he still can't bring himself to tell her. It's something he isn't proud of; why he can't run anymore, why he jumped; just the simple fact that he did it at all.

It feels like telling her would change something. He's not sure what, though.

Alby is the first to call him out.

"You're being a Shank," Alby says, early one morning as they leave their hut and head for the Mess. Eva is still asleep in Nick's old hammock. "Tell her, or don't – that's up to you – but don't keep shutting her out."

Newt tries to ignore him, but Alby's not done.

"You barely smile at all, Newt, but since she turned up, somehow she gets you to. And I don't give a shuck whether she never knows, but you need to work it out."

And that's all he says on it.

Dan has a bit of a go at him next.

"What the shuck happened with you two? No, you know what – I don't care. Just fix it." Then he abruptly looks apologetic and his shoulders slump. "Sorry. But anyone can see she kinda misses you."

Newt snaps his eyes up to the Keeper of the Slicers, frowning.

"That can't surprise you," Dan says, scoffing. "Are you even aware how much time you spent with her?"

No. He really wasn't.

But…it does kind of explain how his evenings near the fire have felt…less. Less something.

Dan apparently decides his words have hit the mark, because he turns back to the rabbit carcass on the table, falling silent. The fact that he's preparing a rabbit for supper is the only reason Newt knows Eva is nowhere near the Butchery.

And as the days pass, Alby and Dan are not the only ones.

"Spoken to Eva yet?" Stan asks, off-handedly but looking a little upset. Newt can't shake the feeling that Stan is on Eva's side with this.

"Why is everyone bugging me about this?" He asks.

It was his shucking suicide attempt; why are they getting involved?

"Because you didn't even tell her you didn't want to talk about it," Stan tells him. "You just started avoiding her."

And yeah, he did.

All he sees when he thinks back to that conversation is her soft expression, eyes reflecting the fire. Nothing judgemental.

And he walked away first.

Fear is a powerful thing, and he just doesn't know how to trust her with this.

…

"You're being a Slinthead," Minho tells him sagely, while they eat dinner one night. He caught Newt watching Eva with Jeff and Dan across the fire. Then he goes back to his chicken leg.

"You know the Glade's too small to actually avoid her forever, right?" Eric points out; quite at random as he helps the Builders chop wood one morning.

"Nice timing, you just missed her," Jeff says ironically when he drops into the Infirmary with Dave to make sure he gets his arm bandaged up.

And in direct contrast to what feels like everyone else, Zart doesn't say a word to him. Not about Eva and not about anything else, either. He visits the Gardens to drop off a new crate of tools and Zart just takes it off him with a stiff nod and leaves.

"He's been making Eva laugh half the morning," Jack says, standing up from the vegetable plot right beside where Newt is left, empty handed.

Jack's thumb is neatly bandaged, and the dressing is still white – so it's very recent.

He raises his hand when he realises Newt's seen it.

"She patched it up," he supplies. "She's stopped asking about you, now."

And that single sentence hurts more than anything any of the boys have been saying for the past week.

That one digs under his skin and keeps him awake well into the night.

…

"So now, what? You want to talk to her but you don't know what to say?"

Frypan sounds incredulous. He flicks a wooden spoon as he makes his point and gravy flies off of it.

Newt sighs, but – reluctantly – nods.

Frypan pulls a 'serves you right' kind of face, going back to stirring the broth with a somewhat violent air. "Maybe you could start with not running in the opposite direction whenever she appears?" he suggests caustically.

Newt throws him a withering look.

Frypan shrugs. "Look, Man. If you're not going to tell her, then don't. Half the Shanks here have no idea exactly how you got that limp. I'm pretty sure a bunch of them think you got it in some kind of epic battle with a Griever and you've repressed all memory of it."

Newt snorts.

Frypan continues without pause. "And if you are going to tell her; stop worrying about how. It's Eva. It took me less than a week to realise that girl hasn't got it in her to judge anyone."

It's not really the judgement Newt is concerned about. Not anymore. Sure, that bothered him at first, but his brain quickly caught up with him and he realised days ago that the chances of Eva actually turning her back on him are slim to…well…minus numbers.

It's more the pity that he's concerned about.

He saw it, in the eyes of the boys who were around, back when he jumped. He saw how the shadow of it lingered in every look and every action for months. And it made him feel like he was carrying the weight of it every day that he waited for the crippled ankle to heal.

Newt only told two boys about what he did, later on. Both Runners; as a warning. He wanted them to be fully aware of what they were risking by joining Minho's team.

And as soon as they were done looking horrified and scared, they had that same shadow of pity in their eyes, too.

Newt's had enough of it.

Which is why he stopped telling anyone. If they think he got into a fight with a Griever, that seems like it would have been the better option.

Just thinking about it makes him agitated.

He only remembers three years of his life, and for a solid six months he remembers the growing desperation, twisting and burning like a separate entity in his stomach. He remembers living for a month with the seductive voice at the back of his mind that would whisper to him when his guard was down. 'It would be so easy'…'You wouldn't feel sad anymore'…'Its not like you'll ever _actually_ get out'…'this is easier. Better'…

He remembers the three months after the jump. The fortnight of bed rest, the weeks hobbling on a splint and crutches made from branches when his busted ankle couldn't bear any weight at all.

He finds himself lurching from the stool he's been slouched on, some kind of frantic energy zapping through his veins.

"It's not really that I'm worried about," Newt finally replies, aware he's been thinking on it for more than a few seconds.

Frypan tosses down his spoon and fixes a solid look on him.

"Then just be shucking honest with her. Tell her the truth, or tell her you can't talk about it. But stop… _this_. You're being an idiot."

Newt sighs, nods and heads for the doorway. "I know," he says.

And as he leaves, he sees Frypan deflate, too.

Can he work out how to trust just one more person with this broken piece of him? Or does he admit it's just something he can't face? Those are really his options now, because even he can admit that avoiding Eva was never a decent long-term plan.

He's too preoccupied with his thoughts to realise at first that he's walked straight past the brunette girl he's steered clear of for the past week. Her steps faltered when she saw him, and that mingled look of surprise and numbness sits in his mind. It's a numbness like she's gone beyond being hurt or disappointed and this is all that's left. But she didn't call to him, didn't speak at all.

She never came after him, and that's when Newt remembers what Jack said. She stopped asking about him.

…

The Council Hall is Newt's favourite place to be when it rains.

The water seeps through the gaps in the walls, runs down the steps and soaks into the earth. The ceiling – when it's packed out enough – makes for a dry canopy, and the rain drums on the net of leaves and twigs. When it wears thin, as the leaves wither, places begin to leak and streams of raindrops create shimmering chains in random places through the shack.

Plus, it's isolated.

The Council Hall being right in the corner means it's far across the field from Homestead and the Gardens. Most Gladers gather in the Mess or the Butchery during the rare bouts of rain. It's nice to feel a little alone sometimes. Pretend the world is just a bit bigger and that being alone could actually be possible.

But footsteps hurry up to the door, echoing down the tunnel entrance with a wet slapping sound, thanks to the water soaked grass. Alby, as usual, wanting to make sure he eats something. It's been a little while since the rain started, so he's about on time.

"We're going to need to re-lay the roof," he says, just to forestall any other topic. "This one isn't holding too well."

A job for the Bricknicks.

And then he looks up.

But it's not Alby in the doorway, delivering a packet of lunch.

It's Eva.

She's clearly run through the rain; her thin hooded sweater is dappled with rain spots, as are her jeans, though the ends are soaking slowly up from where they've been in contact with the ground. Her dark hair drips lightly onto the steps.

She brought lunch rations instead.

Which means Alby told her he was here. _Shank_.

He drops his head, not sure how to feel about any of it, and busies his hands with placing another of their buckets under a roof leak. The rain starts pinging into it.

"Awesome," Eva says, deadpan. "So we're really not talking anymore?"

She sounds a little…hurt, maybe. And it has Newt halting on the spot, turning back to her. The numbness has gone – like it wasn't even there when he saw her outside the Kitchen. She looks just a little annoyed, maybe.

"No. Sorry," the apology falls from his mouth, followed, hesitantly, by the truth. "I just…don't know what to say."

Eva's eyebrow lifts.

"You…Shuck-head," she swears at him. The instant the words come out, her hands slap over her mouth in horror.

Newt feels a spark of amusement flare up in his chest, despite his surprise.

He can't think of a time Eva has ever used any kind of foul language – Glader made or not. And it's…unexpected, but strangely endearing.

She actually swore at him.

"I'm sorry," she says, hastily and still looking mortified. "I shouldn't have said that. And I'm sorry if talking about the Maze is a problem for you." She shrugs, her voice softening. "I can't ask Minho; I just feel like I can't. And I don't have to ask you, either, but that's why – you've done it before; you've been there-"

"And I don't miss it," Newt feels the words pour out of him, even as he remembers just why they started this conversation over a week ago.

She might run. Not today, or tomorrow, but one day. She could do it; she's good enough.

And, in some ways, its better that she's asking the questions, learning the stakes, now, and not when she's already lost a part of herself to the Maze.

"Look," he says, and his voice has dropped like hers. "I'm sorry, too, okay? I didn't handle it well, but I just can't talk about this."

Something that looks like a realisation flashes behind her eyes – a spark of silver rushing through the grey.

Something eases in Newt's chest.

When was the last time he actually talked about it?

Maybe never.

He's only told those two boys, and he only told them that he jumped. That he felt desperate enough to try.

He's never told the whole story.

"We're all broken here," Eva says, and her voice is quieter still. "Dan has a scar he doesn't remember getting. Fry won't cook aubergines but he doesn't know why. I spent an afternoon in a tree and threw a spike at Alby. You're no more broken than we are. But-"

"It wasn't an accident," Newt interrupts.

He's made his choice.

Maybe there will be some kind of peace in telling the whole story. From the beginning.

"What?" Eva asks, thrown off.

It's the oddest sensation. Just hours ago he was still fighting with this; the idea of talking about it was still an intimidating, wrenching one at best. But now…

He feels his mind drift back into the memories of those early days. He drops onto a step. There's a phantom ache in his ankle. "It wasn't an accident. My foot; the limp."

Eva crosses the space. She's still that quiet, unassuming presence as she sits close to his side.

The words start to burn in his throat. So he starts to talk.

He tells her about Alby being first, about Nick and Gally and George. About Minho and how they became the first Runners while Gally and Alby built a society. He tells her about George's death, about Nick's disappearance. Then he tells her about the repetition.

Then his throat begins to close up, but the words still swarm up, wanting to be told. He pushes on.

"About eighteen months after I got here, I decided I wasn't going to come back. I couldn't handle the same thing, day after day, knowing nothing but my name. I climbed one of the walls in the Narrows and I jumped."

Eva flinches beside him like she's been struck by lightning. There's a fractured look of startled sadness to her pale eyes. It's too taken aback to be pity, but Newt's eyes drop away anyway. He curls his fingers in and out as his mind races.

The memory is a fragmented one; bursts of it so clear and sharp, with chunks of it vague or lost entirely. Sometimes he remembers the pain; burning, shooting pain up his leg. Sometimes he hears the crack, right in his ears, louder than the moving Maze. And sometimes he's numb and deaf to it all.

Memory is a fickle thing.

"My foot caught in one of the creepers," this much he does remember. And some of the rest, Minho told him. "Threw me against the wall. Broke it. Minho cut me down, and he and Ben dragged me back before nightfall.

"Jeff had to reset the bone. I had a splint on it for a couple of months. Had the limp ever since."

He swallows, steels himself, and looks up at her again. He's dreading that look of pity…but it's not there.

She's shaking. Her hands and shoulders shiver despite the humid warmth of the hut and her eyes are glassy with tears she bites back. But she just looks endlessly understanding – if a little…afraid.

And it's the fear that concerns him.

He never wanted his own depression to scare her.

Before he can speak, she opens her mouth. She's hesitant, apparently trying to word the question in the best way. "Do you still…want that?"

_Does he still want to take his own life?_

_Smart girl_ , Newt can't help but think.

It's a fond thought, out of nowhere, but he's not really surprised by it.

Not everyone would think of this; she doesn't ask if it hurt, if he had to learn to walk again, if he couldn't look anyone in the eye – all yes. She asks the single most important question.

She knows the difference between something in the past and something that can still haunt you.

The jump was in the past. Wanting to do it again is in the present.

Just because you fail at suicide doesn't mean you let go of the idea of it.

Newt did.

But not everyone is so lucky as to have an epiphany that your life is worth something, just fractions of a second after you decide to give it up.

She's not just clever, she's perceptive.

Which he already knew, but it still rings deep.

And this, he realises with a sizeable amount of relief – not to mention that strange, gripping feeling in his chest – is the source of her fear.

She isn't afraid for herself. She's afraid for him. That he'll try again.

So he shakes his head. "I still feel hopeless some days," he says, honestly. Somewhere in the midst of telling her the story of the Glade, he stopped over thinking his words. Honesty feels easier than he expected when it's her. "And I never stop hating this place. But I realised in the days after I tried that it was a selfish thing; that it wouldn't help or solve anything. And not being a Runner helps. I can feel like I'm doing something, actually helping by being here. The routine of the Maze was what nearly destroyed me."

The relief flashes through her expression and her shoulders relax visibly as she pulls in a breath.

But she doesn't speak, so Newt continues. He didn't quite expect that telling someone everything would lift the burden of it so substantially. He's kind of forgotten what existing felt like without the gripping weight on his chest.

"That's partly why Minho got so serious. It's his way of blocking out that pressing feeling of never finding an answer. He saw what it did to me."

Newt remembers the Minho who first arrived in the Glade. There were three days of racing from wall to wall, looking for exits, throwing up and demanding answers before he settled into life. He was funny, sarcastic and self-confident; a constant source of entertainment and support.

But the Maze hardened him.

Minho still is that person, sometimes. Underneath everything. Newt just doesn't get to see him as often as he'd like.

Newt's lost in his memories of Minho, trying not to let his mind drift to the look on his face when he dragged Newt back with a busted ankle. And he doesn't register it for a second when Eva rests her head against his shoulder.

The rain seems to drum louder than before, in the wake of their voices. Eva's slight frame is warm against his side, her hair mostly dry and laying down his sleeve like a curtain, back to its chocolate brown shade.

She fits there. She's almost a full head shorter than him when they're standing, but they've sat by the fire for enough nights for Newt to know that they fit easily anyway.

Alby and Minho both hug him, and there's lots of shoulder patting going around, too, but this kind of closeness is less common. Eric and Lee have been known to sit close by the fire pit at night, but it was new to Newt when Eva arrived.

And now it's familiar. It was his own stupid fault, but he missed her.

"I won't run unless I have to."

Eva says the words quietly, but she means them. They dissipate into the quiet of the hut and all Newt can hear is the way she breathes and the pinging of rain into the buckets. He can smell the rain and the woods in her hair and on her skin.

When the subject was first brought up, his main concern was for the big picture; if she is there for a reason – as he suspects she is – and if she dies, they'll never find that out. But now…She's not just some variable in their world. And he's scared for her.

But the grip on his chest eases.

Because she said this – promised it – to bring him peace. He knows that.

He nods, because he feels like words don't really work here.

He tugs his mind back on track. There's a lightness that he's not used to feeling and it strikes him, very suddenly, that maybe he's not as broken as he thought. Maybe he was just used to dealing with it alone.

And even so, he really doubts that Frypan or Dan or anyone is broken, too.

But…hang on…

"How do you know Dan has a scar?"

He knows about it himself – a clean looking, silvery line that curves from his ribs up to his shoulder blade. It clearly healed very well, and was some time ago, which of course, means he has no memory of it whatsoever. But Dan isn't usually one to work shirtless unless the heat really is stifling.

So how does Eva know?

Did he tell her? – which, fair enough. Stories and theories about their lives before are some of the topics brought up around the bonfire – but if he _showed_ her…

Well, that almost means something different.

And it's not like relationships are against any of the rules. Whatever kind of relationship you want to have has always been fair game, so long as you still do your part and don't cause harm to another.

But that's getting towards a subject that Newt isn't ready to touch with a ten foot Banishing post. Thankfully, Eva's quiet laugh helps to push the thought aside.

"Here," she says, handing over one of the lunch packs she brought with her as she sits up on the step and folds her legs underneath her. "Eat something."

She doesn't say anything else. Newt isn't entirely sure he wants to know anyway, so he obediently opens the pack. They swap sandwiches and lean back against the carved steps where it's dry.

The rain continues through the afternoon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Not 100% certain when the next will be up, but as I'm trying to go chronologically, its likely to be the Box Day Feast for Henry up next. Probably told from Dan, Minho or Gally's point of view - if anyone has any preferences :) Maybe a bonus bit of Fry and Zart actually having words with the Greenie...
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this, and no one misses Eden Switch toooo much :) Scorch Trials is looking epic, though...


	3. Rebuilding and Retelling - Dan - Ch 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi guys! So sorry for the long wait! Life has been very busy and quite stressful for a while. I did say that this series wasn't pre-written, so its a case of needing to find the time to get the next bits ready. It involves a fair bit of cross referencing with Eden Switch itself to keep all the facts and some of the dialogue straight, which can be time consuming.
> 
> So yep, I really am sorry. On the plus side, this is a full ten pages, and in Dan's head, it should be a bit of a change for you. Hope you enjoy it. I can't promise how soon the next bit will be, but it will come :)
> 
> Picks up very shortly after the events in the previous one-shot, still in the Rain Day.

Dan makes his way down from the Butchery following the afternoon of the rain, the rest of the Slicers and half the Track-Hoes trudging through the squelching grass with him.

 

Homestead is slowly coming back to life as the sun drops down.

 

A group of the Builders, Gally along with them, are shaking out some of the thatching over the kitchen, puddles of rain collecting on the ground around them. All the Sloppers are moving around the fire pit. Some are kicking away the clotted, wet ash while others spread out new sand. A couple of the boys are doing short trips to the log store behind the Mess Hall to bring dry kindling.

 

Dan ducks into the kitchen, Zart at his side as their teams split off to join in where they’re needed.

 

Alby, Frypan, Newt and the rest of the Cooks are gathered around the long centre table.

 

Thanks to the well-built hut, nothing in the kitchen seems to be too wet. The cooking hearth at the back looks slightly soggy. A couple of the dented copper pans have been placed strategically underneath a handful of drips, but Fry beams at them when he looks up.

 

“Weathered out the storm?” he enquires jovially.

 

Alby and Newt’s heads lift, too. Dan glances across at them – Alby looks somewhat laid back and there’s something almost peaceful about Newt, though Dan can’t quite place it.

 

“One of the allotments flooded,” Zart reports. “Might have lost a row of carrots, but otherwise, I think it’s done the Gardens some good.”

 

“We’re fine,” Dan adds, when the eyes move to him. “Frankie swept out the Butchery just before we came down. The pens are a bit water-logged but they’ll drain.”

 

“The animals?” Alby asks.

 

“Fine. The chickens aren’t too impressed, but they hid in the coop.”

 

Alby nods and turns to Frypan. “Gally’s team are working on the roof. Most of it should drain off overnight. Leave the pans for now – can you finish supper without them?”

 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Stan pipes up. “It’ll be more sandwiches, though – the oven needs to dry out fully unless you want a load of smoke in here.”

 

He means the soggy fire pit, but no one blinks at the word ‘oven’.

 

“Do what you can,” Newt says.

 

Stan wheels around and the rest of the Cooks follow him off. Frypan – looking quite proud – folds his arms. “We’ll get this place sorted. How is everything else?”

 

But before anyone can answer, there’s a commotion at the door. Eva and Jeff both duck into the Kitchen. Jeff looks moderately dry, though his worn out sneakers are rather wet. Eva’s sweater is damp and her jeans are soaked from the bottom, like she’s run through the grass.

 

“There’s a leak in the Infirmary,” Jeff informs them without wasting time.

 

Alby and Newt both turn their attention to this.

 

“Anything important get caught?” Newt asks.

 

“That depends,” Eva says lightly. “Would you consider five jars of Clint’s concoction getting washed away ‘important’?”

 

It’s no secret that while the weird mixture does seem to work, it tastes terrible. But her lack of immediate concern relaxes the group. Jeff bites back an amused smile. Newt outright smirks.

 

That makes Dan do a double take for a second.

 

What happened? Just hours ago, they hadn’t spoken in nearly a week.

 

Then Newt says, “It’s replaceable.”

 

So Eva doesn’t miss a beat. “Then nothing important got caught.”

 

And – late – Dan realises something significant _has_ changed since that morning. Glancing quickly across at Frypan, he sees the other Keeper is wearing a slightly smug, pleased smile that he’s making no effort to hide.

 

So it’s not just him.

 

But no one calls them on it.

 

“Where is the leak?” Alby asks instead.

 

“Back wall,” Jeff supplies, back to business. “Clint’s there now, holding part of the roof together – some of the thatch soaked through.”

 

“Couple of damp bandage rolls,” Eva tacks on. “But that’s about it.”

 

Jeff continues seamlessly – they’ve gotten good at working side by side, “We thought we’d update you and fetch some spare tarp to keep things dry until the Bricknicks can get on it.”

 

Eva turns away, starting back for the door. “I’ll get the tarp,” she calls.

 

“No, I got it,” Jeff answers, turning in the same instant and hurrying after her.

 

“Fight me,” Eva laughs.

 

As soon as she’s ducked out, Jeff on her heels, and they’ve heard them jog away, the rest wheel expectantly on Newt.

 

Looking only a little startled, but rather cornered, he shrugs hesitantly. “She knows.”

 

Alby claps him on the shoulder, breaking a smile. Frypan is beaming again, and Dan feels his own expression twisting to match before he’s told it to. Zart folds his arms. It’s been somewhat common knowledge that Zart’s been giving Newt some sort of silent treatment for the past week.

 

By somewhat common, Dan means that Eva didn’t know but nearly everyone else did.

 

But now, he just nods, his usual bright expression back in place. “About shucking time.”

 

Newt shoots him a look that is both withering and sheepish.

 

Alby moves around them. “I’ll go check the infirmary,” he says. “See where you’re needed; hopefully everything will be back to normal by morning.”

 

Alby leaves the Kitchen.

 

Frypan pats Newt on the shoulder before he, too, turns to start helping with the kitchen clear up. Dan follows Zart from the hut.

 

…

 

The Kitchen is dried out by the following morning and the Cooks celebrate by making everyone scrambled eggs for breakfast.

 

The tiny rivers running through the Deadheads are still swollen, but the trees have almost stopped dripping. The grass is totally dry again; the animals none the worse for wear and most of the puddles around Homestead have soaked back into the earth. Some of the thatching in the huts is still damp, and it’s gone lunchtime before a bunch of the Bricknicks appear at the Butchery with armfuls of dry straw to repair a bit of the roof.

 

Its all just part of the routine after rainfall.

 

No one complains or moans; everyone just gets on with it. And really, rain is rare enough that the good – the feeling of renewal, the full containers, the day off work and the happy geese and ducks – outweigh the bad.

 

By the time Dan calls the Slicers off for the day, their roof is good as new.

 

By the time they’ve trudged across the field with the Track-Hoes towards Homestead, the Infirmary and the back of the Hammock hut have also been fixed up.

 

The smell of the rain has almost totally gone by turn in time, but the woods smell sharper in its wake.

 

…

 

Its two days later that the Box Alarm blares throughout the Glade once more.

 

Dan sets down the cleaver he was just about to hand across to Frankie. All of their heads snap up as one, and then they’re moving. There’s a flurry of activity as the boys all lay down their tools and Lee rushes in from outside.

 

“Let’s go, Boys,” Dan announces.

 

They’re streaming out of the doorway before he’s finished speaking. They mesh together with the Track-Hoes and run across the field, quickly forming a milling crowd at the Box platform in the middle of the Glade.

 

They always have further to go than the guys in Homestead, so most of the others are there first; Gally with half his Builders still holding their tools and Frypan clutching one of his favourite spoons. Eva is stood just behind his shoulder, looking more at peace with the whole thing than she did the last time.

 

It’s progress.

 

Gally and Alby are there to pull the grill open, but before Gally can jump down, their new Greenie is already scrambling up onto the platform. He uses a large drum to reach high enough, but his movements are frantic and it clangs as he kicks at it inadvertently.

 

Still, he’s on his feet, on solid ground in moments. His fair hair is a touch grimy. His pale blue shirt slightly ill fitting and there’s a frantic, cornered look in his eyes; he isn’t sure whether to lash out or crumble into a corner.

 

Newt’s posture stiffens just slightly. He’s stood next to Winston and Dan just catches the sight in the corner of his eye.

 

Gally’s fingers clamp on the boy’s shoulder, pushing him unceremoniously at Billy and Jackson. “Day one, Greenie,” he says.

 

…

 

The boy is a bit younger; fifteen, maybe. Alby rescues him from the Slammer and walks him around the Glade. Dan meets him again when they poke their heads into the Butchery.

 

The frantic look has been replaced with something slightly blank and aloof. His shoulders are fixed tensely; arms folding and unfolding across his body as he’s introduced to yet more people.

 

By the time night has fallen and Dan is down by the Fire pit at Homestead, word is Gally’s already ticked off by him.

 

Can’t have anyone scowling more prettily than him.

 

Eva slides up to the table where he’s standing. Her grey eyes flicker with the golden-amber light of the fire and she offers him a warm smile.

 

“Hey. Were you staring into the store for a reason?”

 

Dan shakes his head, smiling back at her. He hadn’t even realised his attention had wandered and he had been staring into the storage hut by the Mess Hall.

 

“No. Just thinking. Met the Greenie?”

 

Eva shrugs carefully, pulling a strange face.

 

“What?” he asks straight away.

 

“Nothing,” she promises, and she sounds genuine. “He just…seems…”

 

And Dan gets it – he seems like a bit of a dick. Except he’s not sure Eva is capable of intentionally calling someone that. Or, maybe she is – she’s certainly not a pushover, but no one here’s ever really warranted such an accusation.

 

She could easily be giving him leeway because he’s new to everything. Heck knows; they’ve all been there.

 

She can be hard to read, sometimes.

He nods anyway.

 

“Everyone deals in their own way,” he says. He picks up one of the jars of Brew and holds it out. “He’s probably not normally a Shank like this.”

 

Eva takes the jar. She gives him a look over it that is part amused and part contemplative, but doesn’t question it. “Thanks,” she says instead.

 

She heads away again.

 

She’s truly a part of the Glade now, but this is her third Box Feast, and the atmosphere has so far kept her towards the edges. She was barely present for her own one – Dan didn’t even meet her until afterwards. She just isn’t the type to be standing at the food tables, wrestling or chugging Brew with the Builders.

 

Dan gets on with his night, tips back some Brew, has a wrestle against Alby and steals some extra chicken. It’s a while later, as he’s stood with Newt, Minho and Gally that he realises Eva is with Stan and Frypan. At least she seems to be having a good time.

 

Gally is talking to them about the upgrades he’d really like to make to the Lookout Tree – to be fair, the current platform is pretty crude compared to the progress they’ve made elsewhere – when Minho nudges him.

 

Dan frowns across at the Asian boy, who jerks his head to a point across the fire.

 

It’s not hard to get his meaning.

 

The Greenie isn’t accompanied by one of the other boys at the moment, and as Dan watches, he makes his way around one of the logs and then sinks down into a bit of free sand next to Eva.

 

Dan stops pretending he’s listening to Gally.

 

It’s not that he really thinks that the new kid is dangerous, it’s just that Eva is…Eva. And since that first day when she’d convinced him to save White-Foot’s life with just a pair of wide grey eyes, he sort of couldn’t help watching out for her, however much she might not need it.

 

He knew he wasn’t alone, either.

 

“Hey,” he murmurs, quietly, to Gally and Newt. “Either of you met the Greenie?”

 

Of course they were all there when he came up, but actually greeting someone new face to face tended to happen over the course of a few days, what with the number of boys in the Glade.

 

Gally shrugs. “No. Seems like a bit of a Shank but it’ll probably pass.”

 

“Everyone seems like a Shank to you, Gally,” Minho points out, not without humour.

 

Gally’s expression tells them that he doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with this.

 

“Why?” Newt asks instead. Dan kind of expected it; Newt’s always more in touch with the bigger picture.

 

“He’s with Eva right now.”

 

Minho just tips back some Brew, eyes sliding across the fire to them subtly, but both Newt and Gally’s heads snap over.

 

The Greenie is sitting beside her, his expression too difficult to make out through the rippling air across the fire, but his body language is still fixed and wary. Eva is hard to read. Her posture hasn’t really changed since before the kid dropped down next to her, but Dan still gets the feeling she’s not entirely thrilled.

 

“Fry’s watching him,” Newt says.

 

And it’s only after this, that Dan realises Frypan is indeed being very slow about tidying up the dishes.

 

“Winston wasn’t like this,” Dan points out. “He asked us about her later on.”

 

“Winston’s older,” Minho points out sagely, shrugging like this isn’t difficult to figure out. “This Shank looks fifteen, maybe. Kid’s not got a filter yet.”

 

They know from experience that even the younger boys grow up fast once they’re here, but on his first night – a combination of being young and probably a more outgoing type – means he’s sought out the one girl around for answers.

 

And Dan knows Eva’s in no danger. Even if Frypan weren’t watching so closely, and even if the Greenie looked like the type to cause any real trouble – there’s over thirty boys within a ten metre radius who’d have his head for it.

 

 

“Maybe someone should talk to him.”

 

Dan’s said it before he’s fully processed it, but he doesn’t exactly regret the sentiment, either.

 

Gally shoots him a mildly curious look. Minho frowns a little – it’s always hard to tell exactly what’s going through his mind. But Newt’s expression glazes a little, before breaking into an amused smile.

 

“And say what?” Minho asks, purely curious, though a shadow passes through his upturned eyes.

 

Dan shrugs. He’s not thought it through completely. “Just ask him to chill out; not railroad her with questions right now.”

 

Minho’s expression clears in some small way. Newt’s smile turns into something more fond than amused. Gally just raises an eyebrow.

 

But Dan thinks – belatedly – that he gets it. He’s not suggesting they tell anyone to back off of her completely; that’s not his or anyone else’s place but Eva’s. But he does know that the first few days can make anyone act like an idiot.

 

“Don’t worry,” Newt speaks up. “She doesn’t need protecting.”

 

He sounds certain.

 

Its not just blind faith; it’s the kind of certainty that comes with knowing something.

 

It piques Dan’s interest – and Minho and Gally’s.

 

Newt tips back a mouthful of Brew from his jar, shoots another glance across the fire, then says idly, “If he gets too much, she’ll make him back off.”

 

“What?” Gally asks, something caustic already heavy in his tone. “Like throw a spoon at his head?”

 

“Chuck a spoon at him,” Newt agrees, ignoring the sarcasm. “Or poke him with a spit. Besides, Zart’s beat you to it.”

 

Dan’s eyes snap up again, and through the fire, he can see the Keeper of the Track-Hoes sitting on the Greenie’s other side, boxing him in. Zart and Eva appear to be having somewhat of a silent conversation around the kid.

 

Zart’s presence seems to have changed something. It’s not long before Eva stands up and leaves them – making her way over to the Ring with just a passing glance at their little group. She doesn’t look bothered in the slightest. Behind her, Frypan and Zart both move in on the Greenie.

 

But Dan turns back to Newt.

 

“Spill, then,” he says. “Why do you say she’ll poke him with a spit? Eva?”

 

And okay – it’s not like he thinks she’s a fragile flower. He knows she’s not. She evaded Gally, knocked Newt back and escaped them all – just in her first ten minutes. She handles knives like they’re extensions of who she is, but she can’t bring herself to use them on anything more alive than a potato.

 

She’s not defenceless, but she isn’t – hasn’t been – violently inclined either.

 

Has she?

 

But Newt’s almost smirking – such a strange, but welcome expression to see on him – which means whatever it is, Newt isn’t worried about it.

 

“Her first day,” he begins, nodding towards the woods behind Homestead. “you all saw her run into the Deadheads. A while later and we found her in that tree.”

 

Dan hadn’t been there, but the fact that Eva climbed a tree to avoid them is common knowledge in the Glade. He’s not too sure where Newt’s going with this.

 

“Well,” he continues. “Alby started trying to talk her down – sent Jeff off to alert everyone – and then tried to get closer. He took one step and next thing we know, she’s thrown one of Gally’s spikes at him.”

 

Dan feels his eyes blow out. Minho’s jaw drops. Gally looks somewhere between incredulous and annoyed.

 

“She missed him,” Newt assures them, swallowing back more Brew. “Cleared him by nearly a foot. Made him stop right where he was standing, though. And I still don’t know for sure whether she missed on purpose.

 

“I mean…knowing her now, I’d guess she never meant to hit him, but she didn’t know us at all back then. She was terrified. We all know what fear can do to someone.”

 

Dan’s mind races.

 

He’s never really seen Eva use anything as a weapon – using knives in the Kitchen doesn’t count – so he can’t say for sure what her aim is like. Fear could have made her miss where she normally wouldn’t. Or her aim was fine, and despite being scared, she still didn’t want to cause harm.

 

Two months never seeing her in a combat situation means he doesn’t have much to go on.

 

“How many people know about this?” Gally asks.

 

There’s a disapproving set to his face, his arms are folded.

 

Newt shoots him a complicated look. “Us, Alby and her. Only Alby and I were there at the time. It just…never came up.”

 

Gally’s eyebrow lifts. “Never came up? She threatened physical violence against Alby and you didn’t think we should know?”

 

This time, it’s easy to read the warning in Newt’s eyes. “She didn’t plan it. She looked almost as surprised as Alby did. It was a bloody warning and she was afraid. Besides; no one here can talk. Who hasn’t come up and freaked out? Frankie literally waved a cleaver in Fry’s face when he arrived. So watch it.”

 

Gally’s face sours, but his shoulders droop as he gives in. He may be hot headed at times, but he does know how to pick his battles. Mostly.

 

Dan’s feeling strangely light-hearted. Probably a combination of the Brew, the flickering fire and learning something about Eva that treads between hilarious and cautionary.

 

“Well,” Minho says, into the silence that’s fallen after Newt’s words. “I’m fed up of you Shanks. Later.”

 

He heads off, making a beeline for Ben and Doug and within minutes, the three of them have ended up at the Ring, waiting for a turn as they psyche each other up. Shooting Newt one look, Gally also moves away, sinking down in a space around the other side of the fire.

 

Newt tips his almost empty jar to Dan before he, too is gone. He slides easily into the space next to Alby over by the roasting spit and Dan is momentarily startled when an arm claps down over his shoulder.

 

“How much you had to drink?” Lee asks him, smirking. “We’ve still not seen anyone as plastered as Tim that one time, if you’re aiming for that, at least let us bear witness.”

 

Yeah; gazing absently off across the dark field probably makes him look more out of it than he actually is. But this has provided him with a wonderful opportunity.

 

“Not a lot,” he assures, now positively beaming as he grasps Lee’s shoulder in return. He steers him to where the other Slicers are gathered. “But you’ll want to hear this; I’ve got a story involving Eva, Alby and a building spike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INFO
> 
> 1\. I felt it wouldn't really give you anything more to hear the actual conversation between Fry, Zart and Henry. You get what's happening from two separate perspectives and in many ways, you may have more fun imagining the exact words yourself.
> 
> 2\. The main thing is that no one is telling Henry to keep his distance indefinitely. This is something that's been raised with a few of my commenters before so I wanted to touch on it, as Dan does for me, since we share the same beliefs in this regard. Its not about telling any of the boys to back off, or that Eva's off limits. Its about getting them not to bother her or pick at her being a girl specifically. They don't want her to be uncomfortable; they're not regulating who she talks to. And as Newt says - she can handle herself in that regard, too, anyway.
> 
> 3\. Really randomly - I love Newt's 'watch it'. I just really like how that sounded and felt in my head for some reason.
> 
> 4\. The most the boys can do is speculate on the Spike situation. Eva herself hadn't fully thought it through. Dan, Minho, Gally and Newt can really only guess at things like the how and the why. Its just their speculations - as usual, you're free to interpret that moment your own way.
> 
> 5\. You never really saw the aftermath of a Rain Day in TES itself. It just didn't have a big place, but I did want to expand on it here as part of the concept of the world. Just more of the established routines.
> 
> Sequel Update: I've seen the Scorch Trials. My original ideas don't all fit with the plot and the timeline of it, so I'm doing some shuffling, but as of right now, I'm still undecided. It may all come together, it may not. I want to wait until I have more access to the movie for research - so when it's out on DVD - to know if I can work something out for sure. If that's a yes, it'll still be a while since I won't post until its all written to spare you the pain of an unfinished fic. But hopefully this at least explains where my mind is at right now, since I get this question a fair bit :)


	4. Runner Needed - Minho - Ch 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt and Minho discuss Eva's first foray into the Maze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Long time, no writing. I'm very sorry for the long, long, long wait. These chapters take time due to my perfectionism making me carefully cross-reference between TES and new content so everything matches up, but that's not all. Since I last posted, I have moved house and now have acres of fields to maintain and rennovate as well as a new job and various other committments. It makes my writing slow going at times, and sometimes I'm simply inspired to write stuff that isn't Maze Runner (or Maze Runner but not part of this 'Eva' series). I've learned not to argue with the Muse.
> 
> And finally, this chapter specifically has just been painstaking to get right. I had an idea (vague as it was) exactly what this conversation was about back when I wrote it in the main TES story but over time, that got even fuzzier and finally when it was time to write it in full, it didn't come out quite right. There's still little bits that are off to me, but its as good as I think I'll get it. I hope you enjoy it, for anyone who is still around :) Thank you all.
> 
> -As its been AGES, you may want to re-read chapter 5 of The Eden Switch. This chapter begins a couple of days before the last scene of that chapter, which is when the bulk of this takes place-

Minho first starts to suspect when Ben stumbles over thin air as they race down one of their more usual routes.

Minho was the best. He knows that, and so did everyone else, but Ben is damn good. He doesn’t just go around tripping over his own feet every day.

So something is up.

“You good, Shank?” Minho asks him the following morning as they fasten up their harnesses and gulp down cups of water.

Ben nods, waving him off as he tips back his cup.

“I’m good. Ear’s ringing a bit. I’m good for today.”

Bravado is all well and good, but they’ve both been doing this too long, and they know it’s better to be honest with each other. Better to take a sick day than pretend its all fine. 

Minho loves the shuck-face, but he isn’t carting him back to the Glade if he catches a bug like the last time.

He can still remember the projectile vomit on Alby’s shoes.

It wasn’t a good day.

And Ben is smart. He can tell the symptoms as well as anyone else. He knows better than to make stupid decisions.

“Let’s move,” Minho says, taking his word for it.

Ben sets down the empty cup, throws a last look around the Map room to be sure they have what they need, and then falls into pace with Minho, who’s treading the familiar bee-line out to the Doors just as the Gladers begin to rise.

…

Ben is sick.

By the time they barrel back into the Glade at the end of the day, the tall boy is swaying on his feet. His running has become gradually less coordinated and efficient, his footfalls heavier. And then he’d started coughing.

Thankfully there had only been two coughing fits to slow them up, but from the constant noises just over his shoulder since noon, Minho knows he’s having trouble keeping his lungs and airways clear.

Minho pats his shoulder when he slumps forwards onto the grass, spitting out bile. His arms shake lightly as they support his weight.

These bugs, as they call them, seem to affect all the Gladers slightly differently. For many it seems to run a course like the average cold, and even within that there are a range of symptoms. When Ben had contracted it before, well over a year ago, it had started with lack of coordination and a ringing ear, then, too.

Minho is just thankful that, for whatever reason, it seems he has a greater tolerance than some.

There’s little doubt he must have come into contact with the contagion too. In all likelihood it was something left in the Maze on purpose. Despite spending most of his time with Ben, even after he would have picked it up, Minho still feels fine.

The only time he’d ever gotten sick that he could remember was after chugging three full jars of Gally’s Brew on a Box Feast. That was back in the good old days, when Zart had just arrived and Gally’s Brew might as well have been battery acid.

“You look like klunk,” Minho tells him. “Give me your pack. Go see the Med-Jacks. Now.”

Ben nods his head, eyes clenched shut, and fumbles to get out of his harness. Minho watches him stagger away for a few moments before turning tail for the Map room.

Until their packs are safely away, and he’s seen Doug and Justin, his job isn’t done.

…

If it’s possible, Ben looks worse just a couple of hours later.

Minho is reclining in his hammock, catching up on a bit of sleep before supper when Ben ducks into the Runner’s hammock hut.

The light is failing, but even so, its bright enough still to see that his skin has a feverish flush to it and he can’t walk in a straight line. He misses his hammock the first two times he reaches for it and the third time he’s still off a bit and ends up sprawled a little awkwardly.

He falls into a fitful sleep anyway.

Minho leans his head back again, over the arm he has tucked behind his neck.

His mind has been playing options all day, but now he really needs to decide.

Does he not go tomorrow? That way someone is around to watch Ben and he’s bound to be useful doing _something_ in the Glade.

Plus, there’s also the small detail that they’re not actually finding any information they don’t already have. Their maps are complete. They just also happen to be exit-less. But his job is also about hope. It doesn’t matter what he knows; the others don’t.

Newt doesn’t.

And Newt already tried what he did back then, when there really was reason to hope. Minho never wants to see what might happen to his friend if he finds out this secret the Runners have been carrying. So no; he has to go, has to keep on pretending that what he’s doing is vitally important; that it’s progress.

He brings back hope. It’s a heavy burden sometimes, but he’d rather that sat heavy on his shoulders than anything else.

Which means he needs to find someone to go with him.

Doug and Justin have their own system. Minho trained them both, but they’ve been running together so long now that they work better that way. Whether Minho is better or not, he’d be intruding and it would ultimately mean less efficiency.

That’s out.

Which means he needs a substitute.

And this is where it gets dicey.

There’s only a very few Gladers who he’d even consider taking. Dimitri, one of the Bricknicks, is very fast on his feet, and he’s clever, too. But he’s never been trialled in any way. Minho knows very little about him, and Newt – who basically knows all the shanks in the place – only knows that he’s fast. He’s never asked about Running.

Minho’s taught the other Runners, but they’re all boys who’ve either expressed interest while showing talent, or proven themselves in other tricky situations.

The last thing he needs is for his stand in Runner to lose their shit at the first dead end and leave him to baby them.

 _Damn Ben and his delicate constitution_ , Minho thinks, somewhere between fond and exasperated.

There are two other boys – Joe and Dave – who are in the same boat. As far as he can tell, they’re good kids, and fast. Joe is apparently very agile, too. But none have ever asked about Running, and Dave seems to be on the younger side, too.

Minho isn’t taking a kid out there again. Not after George.

And that leaves just one person.

Newt is not going to like this.

…

Minho leaves Ben and makes his way to the centre of Homestead as the sun goes down.

Frypan hands him over a dish. “Broth or Bird?”

Minho peers into the cauldron type bucket, dubiously eyeing up the lumpy cuts of potato floating in the stew.

“Duck,” he decides.

Fry, looking as though he finds this very amusing, cuts him a generous helping. “Enjoy, Shuck face. Where’s Ben?”

Minho sighs and shakes his head. “Crashed out. Think he’s running a fever.”

“He is.”

Minho turns on the spot, and Frypan’s sympathetic eyes slide past him to Clint, who walks up with his own empty dish.

“Almost fell over Jeff when he arrived at the Infirmary. Jeff looked at him. He’s definitely running high so we pushed some medicine down him, told him to drink lots and stay wrapped up. He’s got to stop in tomorrow and see us if it’s not better. 

“I’m thinking it won’t be.” Clint shrugs, sharing Frypan’s sympathetic expression. “His fever’s got to break first but I figure he’ll be out another day, maybe two. Let’s just hope its not catching like the last one.”

Yes; though he hadn’t caught it himself, it wasn’t exactly easy to be one of just a few boys still fully functional in the Glade.

“Eat your supper, Minho,” Frypan prompts. “I’ll keep a dish and some broth warm for Ben.”

“Thanks, Fry,” Minho nods. “I’ll come back and grab it.”

“What are you going to do about tomorrow?” the Keeper of the Kitchen asks, as Clint scoops himself some broth and ambles away.

Minho lets out a breath, eyes scanning the area.

The fire pit is empty, though boys are starting to gather up the kindling, and the sky is now slowly gathering darkness but Minho finds who he’s looking for.

Leaning back against one of the logs, Newt and Eva sit close together, the two of them just an arm’s length from Tim and Eric.

Newt looks relaxed, which is slowly becoming the new norm for him, in these short hours of the evening when he’s with Eva. It’s not even a particularly fascinating scene. They’re just eating their food and talking quietly, but it’s the easy way that they sit together that gives Minho some small feeling of relief.

Ever since the rain day, it’s like their falling out didn’t even happen. Except they’re clearly closer.  Newt trusted her with the Glade’s past, with his own demons, and it shows. Minho’s grateful for it.

Newt needed someone who wouldn’t look at him and see something broken.

It makes it even harder that he’s going to ask what he has to.

“Minho?”

“What?” His head turns.

Fry is still standing there, a hand on the ladle and wearing a prompting expression. “What are you going to do about tomorrow?” Frypan repeats, and that’s when Minho realises he never replied. “If Ben can’t run?”

Minho sighs. “I’m going to have to borrow someone to take his place.”

“Who’s the lucky Shank, then?” Fry chuckles.

Minho doesn’t laugh. His eyes slide over the fire pit again. He knows Frypan’s followed his line of sight to Eva when he hears the low ‘Damn, Minho’ from his mouth.

Minho looks up at him, only now does a slight, humourless smile tug at his mouth.

The irony is that they both know Eva won’t even complain. She’ll do it because she does want to help and to pull her weight. No. They both know that the issue is Newt. And not even in the sense that he’ll refuse to let her – he never would.

It’s purely the fact that Minho will be putting her in this situation, despite being fully aware that Eva’s simple existence means something to him. Whether as a variable, which is certainly how it started out, or as a human being, she means something.

Fry shakes his head and forks him over an extra off-cut of duck. “Good luck, Man.”

He’s going to need it. There’s no way Newt won’t be having words with him about this.

…

Minho drops into the dry earth beside Newt, eyes sliding over the ground and settling on the fire pit the boys are slowly building up. The sky is dying above – sun below the wall with its final rays streaking across the expanse above, holding off the map of stars just a little longer. He doesn’t look at Newt or Eva, preoccupied with his thoughts – with what he needs to ask of them – but the quiet is easy, comfortable.

But while Eva may still not see herself too clearly – Minho can see as well as any of the other Gladers that she’s still trying to work out who she is – she’s had no problem reading anyone else. She opens the conversation with a simplicity that momentarily eases his mind off of Ben, the fever and the prospect of tomorrow.

“Duck or broth?”

“Duck,” he supplies, only now glancing over with the slightest offer of a smile, remembering the lumpy stew in the cauldron. “Fry put a whole handful of potatoes in the broth.”

Eva looks lightly amused, spearing a piece of her own potato with somewhat pointed flair. “I know,” she says. “Starch is good for you.”

Between them, Newt smirks at the exchange, long fingers still curled around his own dish.

Minho shoots them both a withering look. 

But the light interplay between them gutters and snuffs out like a candle in the wind. Tightness presses on Minho’s chest as he remembers acutely why he even sat down here; why he broke into the bubble that more and more has felt like its meant for just the two of them – not that he thinks they’ve noticed it.

“I think Ben’s coming down with something.”

Like ripping off a band-aid.

Both Eva and Newt stop eating. Newt’s head snaps up faster than Eva’s, a sharp awareness already kindling in them of what is coming next.

Minho keeps talking, knowing they’ll only ask anyway.

“He started coughing a bit as we ran back and I’m taking him supper in a second because he’s in his hammock with a bit of a fever.”

Eva’s eyes reflect the sky, gold and violet, as they swim with concern. “Do you need someone to look at him?” she asks.

Minho shakes his head. “Jeff already checked. Gave him Clint’s mixture, told him to bundle up and drink lots. He has to go to the Medi Tent in the morning if he’s still not right. We think it’s just a bug.”

Sharp awareness has turned into inescapable knowing in Newt’s brown eyes. “That’s good, then,” is what he says, and Minho hears it for what he really means – _Spit it out, Shank_. 

“He can’t run tomorrow, Newt.”

He hopes his old friend can hear the apology he can’t – won’t – give.

His eyes slide across Newt to Eva, and he isn’t sure if he’s surprised or not to see in her expression – quiet, resolved, gentle – that she knows exactly what he’s asking. She won’t refuse, even as it weighs on her. He already knew she wouldn’t, but seeing it in her grey eyes causes a pulse just below his collarbone – gratitude, relief, or respect, perhaps.

Newt takes a controlled breath and Minho’s attention jumps back to him. His head lifts again, gaze focused out on the kindling being assembled in the fire pit.

“You’re ready, Eva,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “There’s only so much you can do before you just have to try. You’re fast. You’ll be fine.”

Eva’s gaze is on Newt, even though he doesn’t look back at her. Her eyes trace delicately down the side of his face and lower, to where his pulse beats visibly in the hollow of his throat. There’s something slightly sad about the slow sweep, but clearer is the solemnity with which she nods very slightly; a gravity that Minho understands. Newt has many good reasons to be wary of the Maze, and given he told Eva of his past with it, she knows those reasons just as well as Minho himself.

She’s respecting those fears, whether she knows it or not, and Newt’s encouragement has taken a visible weight from her acquiescence.

Newt looks up at him, eyes as firm as his voice when he says what Minho has been waiting for.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I know.”

Minho hopes Newt can hear the steadfast promise – as close to one as he is able to make, anyway – behind the words he actually says.

Minho gets to his feet, allowing some modicum of illusory privacy as Newt turns to Eva. Even the dull clatter of a dish being set down and the rustle of clothing isn’t enough to muffle the softly spoken promise to return.

…

They wander aimlessly. 

No set destination in mind; sometimes the easiest way to actually have a private conversation in the Glade is to keep walking through it. In this instance, with everyone beginning to cluster in Homestead now that the shadows are long and the sky ever darker, nearly anywhere else would be deserted. In this instance, Minho and Newt both keep walking out of restlessness – for this conversation and for what the morning will bring.

“You know I wouldn’t ask her if I could ask anyone else,” Minho says finally.

Newt looks over at him even as his hand waves him off. “Don’t,” he says. “I know that. Your other options were Dimitri or Joe-” Dave doesn’t even join the list and Minho knows it’s for the same reason he bypassed him. “-neither of whom have run against you or ever indicated they’d want to be in the Maze. Eva…she can run and at least you trialled her, so you know what you’ll be going out there with.”

“She doesn’t want to Run, though, does she?” Minho’s guessing a little here. If she absolutely didn’t want to, they never would have set up her trial, but other than that morning, he’s heard nothing to indicate she wants to join their ranks. Newt would know better than him; better than any of them.

Newt rubs the back of his neck, a motion betraying his discomfort at the topic.

Minho waits.

“Because of me,” is what he says, finally, looking a little agitated. Minho raises an eyebrow so Newt lets out a breath and elaborates. “She wanted to know about it; what Running really was, after the Council Meeting when she arrived. She loves to run and she wants to help, and I think she found that hard at first because the things she can do didn’t make sense to her – still don’t. I think she thought she’d actually be useful in the Maze.

“But she guessed that I was a Runner, and she guessed…” Newt’s throat closes up for a moment. “…she guessed I stopped because of an injury – this was before I ever told her what really happened.

“She knew I was worried about her practicing but it wasn’t until the Rain day when I told her about…” Minho can insert the missing piece when his voice breaks; that long awaited day at the end of their not-speaking phase when Newt told her about his attempt. “…And she said she wouldn’t run unless she had to.”

Minho stops.

Newt takes a beat to realise he’s walking alone and turns back, though his eyes dart across Minho’s shoulder and out over the shadowy field, unable to meet him directly.

“She said she wouldn’t run for you,” Minho realises.

Is this why he’s heard nothing about Eva joining the Runners, or even if she wants to? Because she made Newt a promise for his peace of mind? Was that why Minho could practically see the weight drop from her shoulders when Newt told her she was ready – because whether she recognised it or not, he’d released her from that promise? Did Newt perhaps feel guilt over swaying her decision at all – not just Eva’s own choice but leaving the Glade without another potential Runner?

Newt still can’t meet his eyes and Minho takes that as confirmation.

“Newt,” Minho says, a little sharply, arms folding over his chest. It’s the loudest either of them has spoken since sitting down at the fire pit and that alone is likely the reason Newt’s gaze jumps to his. “Listen up, Man, because I’m only saying this klunk once.”

Newt frowns.

“Right now, we have a good team of Runners, and they’re enough. Having people in the Glade – having _her_ in the Glade – that’s what we need. The Shanks are different with her here. And maybe she decided she fits better with the Med-Jacks. But even if she didn’t – even if she only let go of Running because of a promise she made to you – then that’s good, too.”

Minho can’t say it in as many words – he’s never been the type – but he hopes Newt understands what he’s trying to impart.

They can easily get by without another Runner for Newt’s mental stability. He was there at his absolute worst and he doesn’t want that ever again. Keeping Eva out of the Maze as much as possible is a small price to pay if it helps.

Apparently that message did get across, because there’s a flash of frustration through Newt’s eyes and he rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“No, Man,” he says on an exhale. “Its not-…Okay, yeah, I’m scared for her but I don’t think it’s for the reason you think it is.”

Minho knows how ridiculous it is to suggest it’s because Newt _cares_. Newt and Alby, the two of them, have always been the ones to see the bigger picture, while Minho, Gally, Dan and Zart were always more about the immediate. Even Newt was better at that, as Alby had a tendency to let his head get in the way at times. Maybe because of that, or despite it, Newt caring about everyone inside the Glade is an absolute; something Minho doesn’t doubt or question.

“She’s your friend,” Minho says, like this should be obvious. “You spend so much time watching out for everyone here, and you care about what happens to everyone of us, but how many of them do you actually hang out with? Alby? Zart? Me? Gally only if he’s in a good mood. Eva’s actually your friend, Newt-“

“That’s what I’m saying!” Newt’s voice rises, and he snaps his mouth shut. They both glance behind them to the grouping around the fire pit but no one has even noticed them. Regardless, Minho feels the tug on his sleeve and they fall into step once more, falling further from Homestead.

“That’s what I mean,” Newt repeats, quieter this time, head down. “I know she’s my friend but that’s not why I’m so worried. She’s the only girl, Min. Why is that? Did they make a mistake? Because I don’t think so. Everything they do is calculated – from the Doors closing at night to Ben coming down sick. So they sent a girl here for a reason.

“I’m worried because if she goes in the Maze, and she dies out there, we may never find out what that reason was, and if it has anything to do with us getting out.”

And Minho feels it click.

There are still a lot of things that need answers, but this he finally thinks he understands.

Newt does care about Eva; more than as a variable; as a living, breathing person who clearly cares about him, too. But he’s not been blinded by that fondness. He’s as capable of seeing the whole board as he ever was – in a way Minho is removed from, given he spends his daylight hours in near isolation. He’s never really stopped to consider before now just why there’s a girl here; he only knew that there was, and that life went on as it ever did. But Newt saw more – right from the start.

Keeping Eva out of the Maze isn’t just about keeping a Glader alive; it’s about not risking their chance for some answers.

Which puts Minho in a place he’s never wanted to be in; standing between Alby and Newt.

If he tells Newt he can take the day off tomorrow, Eva won’t have to run but he’ll have to lie. He can’t tell Newt there’s no way out. Alby was clear. Or he spares Newt and takes Eva into potential danger for nothing. He’s the only one who can see all the cards right now, and it only makes his choice a difficult one.

“Newt…” he begins, wanting to find a way to reassure or console him, only to let his voice tail off. He doesn’t know what he could say, doesn’t even know where to start. This is not something he can fix. He’s confident but not arrogant.

He knows better than to promise they’ll both return.

Newt offers him a grim, sympathetic half smile and shakes his head. “Its okay, Min,” he says, and he sounds calm, resolved. “Just try to do me a favour and play it safe. Do what you have to do, but…don’t go asking for trouble.”

Minho pulls a smile onto his face and claps Newt on the shoulder. “I never do, Shank. But for you; I’ll try even harder.”

Newt nods. He looks buried in his own thoughts again, despite Minho’s hand still pressing firm over his thin shirt.

They return to Homestead in silence. Whatever tension left over from the conversation has long drained away by the time they reach the fire pit. The night has closed in tight around them; the world black just beyond the reach of the warm halo of firelight. Two of the Sloppers are scrapping in the ring, sand already kicked up in long furrows around them. The bonfire blazes; the twigs and logs cracking as glowing embers spark up into the black and the boys move around it, talking and eating as they meander between groups.

Eva sits on the edge where they left her. She’s reclined against the log, legs bent up at the knee but no tension in her slight frame. She looks up as they both approach, a smile that’s fleeting and sympathetic crossing her face. Her eyes shine gold.

Newt drops beside her without saying anything and Eva doesn’t ask.

Minho takes the space in the dirt next to him and follows the example. But the quiet doesn’t press in on him; no more than the guilt of keeping secrets from Newt, and frankly, he’s been keeping this secret so long, and purely for his state of mind, that it no longer feels like guilt anyway. Instead, as peaceful as he knows how to be, he sucks in a deep breath, tasting wood-smoke and ash on the roof of his mouth.

He came here to ask Eva a question – just one. Instead, he’s left with new ones he cannot answer; questions Newt has already been asking but Minho hadn’t even thought to.

Why a girl? Why just one? Why her – why _this_ girl, or was she just a random draw? Newt doesn’t think so. Why now? And does she have anything at all to do with them getting out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main hope is that this doesn't feel too repetitive. It was read over by @tori_scribbles who at the time said it sounded fine but I do worry. I feel like Newt and Minho both view things from quite different places most of the time, and there are nuances of understanding in this conversation that I think wouldn't just be immediately understood, hence the exposition.
> 
> The next part is aiming to probably be a glimpse of TES' chapter 8, likely from Newt or Alby's perspective of the incident with Justin. I feel like there isn't a huge amount to gain from going over earlier chapters but if there's something you really wanted to see, feel free to ask and I'll certainly consider it. I can't promise a date on it, but my hope is it won't be nearly so difficult as this installment was :) Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Even for those of you who want to read these one shots, you are welcome to disagree with them. These are my thoughts as to what other characters would feel and think at certain moments, but if you have other interpretations, you are more than welcome to stick to them :)


End file.
